Four times Lily Evans slapped James Potter stupid
by Invisibilities
Summary: Four times Lily Evans slapped James Potter stupid  ... And once she didn't.


**Four times Lily Evans slapped James Potter stupid (… and once she didn't.)**

**_The time in which insulting her best friend was an utterly moronic idea._**

James simply couldn't understand it: He was a _Slytherin_, for Christ's sake. He simply could not understand what it was about Severus Snape that Evans found even remotely interesting. I mean, perhaps if he was attractive, Lily might hang around simply because he'd look great on her arm, but Snape resembled someone who had been dipped in a vat of oil and hit in the face a fair few times with a bludger. Plus, he was pretty convinced that Evans wasn't the kind of girl who would judge someone by their looks (Unlike Marlene, who charmingly commented several days prior that she'd "rather get all freaky with my hand for the rest of my life than get with someone fugly.")

Perhaps if he had a great personality? Still, to James, Severus Snape had the personality of a wet sponge. Even most of the Slytherin boys seemed to think him dull. He was useless at flying and never stood as much as a snowball's chance in hell in getting on the Slytherin quidditch team. ; His obnoxiously large nose was almost _always_ buried in a book or a cauldron and he only ever seemed to open his mouth or smile whenever Lily was around… Which was fair enough: Lily was most talented at the art of bringing a smile to one's face. Still, bookishness and intelligence hardly added many personality points at all. The only thing that Snape seemed to have going for him was that he was exceptionally good at potions… Which only served to piss James off more considering he generally did better at blowing up cauldrons than letting them simmer.

For nearly three years, since they first sat next to each other at the Gryffindor table their first night at Hogwarts, James had been trying to get close to Lily Evans, yet the red-head would have nothing of it. Instead, she would merely turn up her nose at him; or roll her emerald eyes; or turn on her heel and walk away with not so much as a hint that she had heard anything he said. Yet, her indignance towards him only encouraged James to try harder; be more of a show off; be funnier; be cleverer; be wittier, all in some vain attempt to gain her attention for even one minute.

Lets face it, James Potter was a jealous fool.

Leaning up against a tree not far from where Lily and Snape sat, James stared on, hands in pockets and expression pensive. He couldn't even remotely understand what it was about himself that Lily simply couldn't stand. He'd been told for years and years that a girl will like you if you're funny, clever and attractive, and James was more than convinced that he checked those boxes. It certainly seemed to work for Sirius, who seemed to have a date with a different girl every three days. So why wouldn't it work for him with the one girl he was actually interested in? His frustration only grew deeper as James observed intently, watching as the oily-haired git threw his head back and roared with laughter, Evans giggling along with him. James scowled deeply, wishing intently that it was him in Snape's position.

He pulled himself away from the tree and strode towards them, glancing down at them both smugly. It was with huge satisfaction that James noticed Snape's sudden change in demeanor: The joyous grin and all hints from laughter had faded barely seconds after James's arrival. Instead, Snape appeared withdrawn and cautious, head down and shoulders slumped, the all too obvious signs of someone who had perhaps crossed paths with James Potter before and not come away with much dignity left at all.

"What was so funny, Snivellus? Having a right old laugh at the prospect of Evans here lending you some shampoo? Geeze, that _is_ a joke." James smirked down at them both as he rocked on the balls of his feet. Snape seemed to do nothing but curl into himself further; Lily merely glowered at him. "Oh, come off it, Evans, that one was funny."

"The only thing funny here, Potter, is the thought of me finding anything that comes out of your mouth funny." Lily retorted coldly, her green eyes dark, narrowed angrily. James scowled.

"You mustn't have too great of a sense of humour then." James instantly regretted the comment, his scowl deepening as he remembered he was trying to win Evans over, not piss her off further. Pulling his hands from his pockets, James folded his arms across his chest, holding his head high.

"My sense of humour is perfectly fine. Yours, however, is poor, inappropriate and demeaning." Lily commented smartly, finding her feet and pulling herself to her full height, chin raised. James found his fists clenching as he saw a small grin creep up Snape's face. Perhaps if Snape had not been there, James's pride wouldn't have been quite so wounded, but that tiny glimmer of vindication upon Snape's greasy face was enough to boil James's blood.

"Bloody hell, Evans. I don't understand you at all." James blurted out, throwing his hands up in frustration. "A bog roll's got more personality than him; He's got a face only a mother could love and, Christ, you saw him in transfiguration the other day: His idea of vanishing a goblet was more like turning it a paler shade!" His stare jumped to Snape, who had scrambled to his feet and backed away a few feet. James sneered towards him. "Honestly, Snivellus: You can't even properly cast a spell: What makes you think you could make someone care about you? 'Cause that's all this is. I've seen the way you look at her. You're so smitten you're practically ob — "

**_SMACK_**

With as much force as she could muster, Lily Evans swiped her hand hard across James Potter's face, hoping as she shook it out that it hurt him as much as it hurt her. Both she and James stood perfectly still for a few moments, James in a state of shock and Lily shooting daggers at him, silently warning him that there would be hell to pay if he ever finished that sentence. Snapping her head around, Lily glanced towards her best friend, holding out her hand (which, to James's utter disgust, Snape took), and pulled him back towards the castle with not so much as a word or a look back.

**_The time in which the idea of a quick snog on the quidditch pitch was simply out of order._**

James Potter would have willingly eaten a bucketful of flobberworms before watching the house cup go to those Slytherin bastards for a second year running. Gryffindor was forty points up but James knew better than to let that be reason to slack off any on the quidditch field. He wouldn't ever admit it outright, but Slytherin's seeker was bloody good at what he did… Especially when compared to Gryffindor's, who couldn't catch a cold even if he tried. He wasn't at all willing to leave Gryffindor's win solely up to their seeker, and so carefully dodging a well-aimed bludger, James sped towards the goal posts, quaffle tucked tightly into the crook of his elbow. As Sirius soars past, bat in hand ready to wallop the bludger into some unsuspecting Slytherin's back, James grins madly and as he nears the goal post, he whips his arm forwards with seemingly no effort at all, slinging the quaffle towards the right hand post and whooping with utter delight as it narrowly missed the grasp of the Slytherin keeper. Smugly, James throws a sly grin towards the keeper, blowing him a kiss before spinning his broom around and heading down the field once more.

His eyes flicked towards the Gryffindor crowd and, there she is, red hair blowing in the breeze, clapping madly. James's chest swells with pride, even though he knows that she wouldn't _dare_ clap for him. She was clapping for Gryffindor, or at very least, Marlene, but most _definitely_ not him. All the same, she's a distraction, and for several long moments, he does very little but stare, smitten, only pulled from his revelry as Sirius whacks his beater's bat into his shin pad.

"Oi loverboy, you can fantasise about shoving your tongue down Evans's throat _after_ the game." He shouted over the roar of the crowd, snapping James back to reality. With one curt nod, James hurtled down the field, determined to do just that.

Two goals, one near miss and one screaming crowd later, the game ended, Gryffindor narrowly in the lead despite the Slytherin seeker's firm grasp upon the tiny gold snitch. James couldn't help but snigger amusedly as he soared past the Slytherin captain, berating the seeker for ending the game too early. He simply couldn't wipe the satisfied grin from his face as the sounds of Gryffindor's cheers boomed through the field, growing louder still upon the announcement that _"GRYFFINDOR HAS WON THE HOUSE CUP!"_ Turning on his broom, James shot towards Sirius, slapping him on the back.

"Top notch flying out there, old chap," James commented, trying his best to appear as prim and proper as he possibly could (although his cheeky smirk was somewhat of a giveaway that he wasn't even remotely close to a proper Victorian gentleman.)

"Absolutely spiffing." Came Sirius's reply, followed by a most undignified snort. "What do you say, shall we oblige Gryffindor House with a fly-by?"

James nodded, grinning. "Just remember, Pads, fly-bys don't typically involve the removal of pants. I am pretty sure old McGonagall is still emotionally scarred from the last time you revealed your unsightly backside."

"I'll have you know that my backside is far from unsightly." Sirius replied indignantly before zooming off towards the Gryffindor stands. James watched him go, eyes following him towards the red and gold, only for his eyes to be captured by one Lily Evans once more. As always was the case when James's attention seemed to be pulled back to the red-head, his eyes glazed over, unable to stop ogling for a few moments. He hadn't at all forgotten Sirius's suggestion regarding fantasising about a lovely snog with Lily after they'd won, however, James strongly preferred the legitimate thing: He was pretty sure that she would taste better than he could possibly ever formulate in his mind anyway. And so it was with that very thought in mind that James flew towards the stands, head big from their win and completely overconfident, and bee-lined for Lily Evans.

He hovered over her, grinning down towards her like a lunatic, before letting himself flip to the underside of his broom, hanging by his legs. Crossing his arms smugly over his chest, James raised an eyebrow (or rather, lowered one, seeing as he was hanging entirely upside down) at Lily suggestively.

"Evans," He said. "How about a celebratory snog?"

"I wouldn't kiss you even if you were the last man on earth, Potter." She retorted, looking highly unamused. James's jaw dropped (or rather, rose - again with the upside-down…) in faux surprise.

"Is that to tell me that if we were the last two people on this _beautiful_ planet, you still wouldn't snog me? But Evans! The continuation of the human race is in our hands! And our kids would be _smoking hot._" Lily did little more than roll her eyes. Puckering his lips, James inched his broomstick forward, narrowing the gap between them. "Oh, come on, Evans, just a wee kiss?"

"Fine. Close your eyes," Lily agitatedly replied. James, unable to believe his luck, closed his eyes tight and pushed his lips forward in anticipation.

**_SMACK_**

Falling from his broom and landing most unceremoniously amongst the seats below, a very dazed James contemplated the difference between a set of soft, warm lips and the stinging wrath of a pissed off fourth-year babe, coming to the decision that Lily had most definitely not gifted him the former. Pulling himself upright and ignoring the many sniggers from the crowd that he'd fallen into, James could only watch, ears burning, as Lily folded her arms across her chest and stared out at the still-circling players, an all-too satisfied grin set upon her face.

**_The time in which menstruation was not up for discussion. _**

James could tell she was in a foul mood.

He always sat behind her in whatever lessons he could. James was sure that she was pretty creeped out about it the first year or so but the longer he did it, the longer she put up with it, and the longer she put up with it, the more eager he was to do it. It really wasn't his fault that she had such nice smelling hair. If he was lucky, their professor would open one of the windows and the breeze would pick up it's scent and push it downwind for his olfactory pleasures. Okay, so perhaps that was reason enough for Lily to be creeped out. It was all pretty freaking creepy…

But I digress. It was for this reason (the sitting behind her in lessons reason, not the hair-sniffing reason) that James was able to tell that Lily Evans was exceptionally frustrated that morning. Typically, Lily spent their History of Magic lessons writing furiously (not scribbling, as Lily Evans _never_ scribbled), trying to take down as many notes as physically possible (which was a feat, considering that Professor Binns managed to ramble on so successfully that he seemed to raise another O.-relevant topic every twenty seconds). Today, Lily's writing was as furious as ever, yet it was the grumbles, nearly inaudible cussing and the angry scratching out of sentences with her quill that gave away her actual mood. Perhaps more indicative that there was a problem was the state of Lily's hair: Usually silky-looking and perfectly kept, her long, auburn tresses took on a more tangled, untamed image that morning. James, however, didn't particularly care. (It still smelt like strawberries).

There was only one thing in the known universe that could lead to such a frazzled Evans, and for someone as attuned to the lunar cycles as James Potter, it was easy to guess. You see, Lily Evans and one of his best friends, Remus Lupin. shared something in common: Every 28 days, they were greeted by something so horrifically mortifying to humankind that it forced the hairs on the back of one's neck to stand on end; something that made grown men weep and children run home for their mummies.

Yes. The dreaded monthly.

Sure, there were more than enough differences between the deliriously pretty red-head's cycle and the curiously scarred, bookish boy's: To begin with, James was at least 81.35% sure that Remus Lupin carried a Y chromosome and wasn't hiding any ovaries, wombs or vaginas underneath a manly facade; Secondly, although James liked to convince himself that Lily Evans could not _possibly_ bleed anything that wasn't rainbows, sunshine and butterflies, he was reasonably sure that said rainbows, sunshine and butterflies wouldn't be pouring out of self-induced wounds from an exceptionally restless night; Last, and possibly the creepiest of all: James knew that Remus Lupin was struck down with a case of dragonpox temporary blindness splattergroit a sick aunt every 28 days bang-smack on the day of the full moon, whilst careful observation seemed to show that Lily Evans suffered a bout of PMS (Particularly Menacing Sixth year) exactly two weeks after Remus.

James had heard once that if you kept a whole heap of women together for a long period of time, their cycles would eventually sync. A quick, sidewards glance to Marlene, who had her forehead pushed into her parchment, eyes clenched so tightly and her hands rubbing her abdomen, seemed to confirm this rumour for James: No doubt Dorcas was in a similarly painful state. With a snigger, James couldn't help but thank his lucky stars that Remus wasn't living up in the girls dormitories with them: Add him into the mix and Gryffindor tower would probably be blown into non-existence.

"Is something funny, Potter?" Binns drawled, staring dully towards James. He smirked, fighting himself from sniggering again. Yes, something was damn-well funny: All James could think about was the shenanigans that would ensue if someone trapped a PMSing Lily, Marlene and Dorcas in a room along with a several-days-until-the-full-moon Remus. James would be willing to wager that only one of them would make it out alive: Which one it would be was uncertain. Still, James didn't think that his History of Magic professor would find the thought at all amusing.

"No sir," James replies, his expression a clear contradiction to his words. Binns doesn't seem to notice though and continues with his long winded speech about Hogsmeade's involvement in the Goblin Rebellions. James didn't particularly care enough to listen… Not that he ever listened to Binns: He was always far too distracted by the pretty little red-head that sat in front of him. The very same red-head that, upon the distraction, had snapped her head around so fast to glower at James that he wasn't at all sure how she didn't end up with whiplash. He continued to smirk, of course, offering her a wink for good measure (the act only seemed to frustrate her further), and stayed silent (albeit unproductive) for the remainder of the lesson.

He packed his bag slowly, far too mesmerised by Lily to move any faster. He'd never seen her quite so desperate to get away from a lesson. However, she freezes upon the realisation that James is still staring. It wouldn't be the first time that she's caught him gazing at her with glassy eyes, but she is hardly in the mood to tolerate it at all today. She narrows her eyes, glaring intensely back at him.

"Careful, Evans, you might set me on fire with that look," he comments smartly, folding his arms across his chest and grinning at her. She rolls her eyes, returning her attention to her book bag.

"If shooting you a nasty look was all it takes to set you on fire, Potter, I would have done it years ago." Lily replies hotly. James sniggers.

"Sheesh, a bit tetchy there, Evans. Are you sure that's not just the PMS talking?"

**_SMACK._**

She's halfway out the door, tangled mess of hair bouncing behind her and feet stomping before James could even register what had happened. Lily moved so quick and hit him so hard that James was left wide mouthed and smarting, a very visible red handprint developing on his left cheek.

"I'LL TAKE THAT AS A YES," he yelled after her.

**_The time in which one was company and two was a crowd._**

Prefects were given several privileges: Firstly, they were entitled to give house points and take them away as they saw fit. Of course, this had to be within reason, much to James's displeasure, as he'd love nothing more some days than taking away as many points as physically possible from Slytherin just to piss them off. Secondly, prefects were given extended curfews (so they could perform their nightly patrol duties) and were generally given a little more free-reign around the castle, given that most of the professors and heads of houses considered them mature and trustworthy enough: This bode well for James who had a passion for troublemaking, despite the shiny prefects badge that sat upon his robes. Ever since the beginning of his fifth year, most professors had turned a blind eye when they saw him walking down a corridor with a grin plastered to his face. Provided he was alone, they didn't much seem to care what he was getting up to: Little did they ever realise that the rest of the boys weren't far behind, stooped under his invisibility cloak. Thirdly, and perhaps most exciting to James (although he would never admit it for fear of being ridiculed by his fellow housemates) was the privilege of having access to the prefect's bathroom.

The prefect's bathroom was a cavernous room, littered with stunning portraits and glasswork, shining tiles and beautiful brass taps. The bath was hardly anything one could consider a bath: At least the size of a small swimming pool, it took up a good portion of the room, sitting against a wall lined with hundreds of faucets and taps, each of which spilled out a stream of varying colour and scent. James found the bath a godsend, particularly after a rough quidditch match or training session. It was hardly ever used, too: James didn't know whether it was a case of the other prefects simply not enjoying baths, or whether they simply couldn't be bothered making the long hike from their common room, and he didn't particularly care, but in his months as a prefect, James had never encountered another being entering, leaving, or using the bathroom, and hardly expected it to be the case that evening either.

Sick and tired of studying for his O.W.L.S, James made his way out of the common room, using the excuse of prefect duties to stop the boys from asking too many questions. He made his way quickly and silently towards the fifth floor, ignoring the odd look gifted from Boris the Bewildered as James yawned out the password. The door swung open and as he pulled off his glasses to rub his weary eyes, James meandered in.

A shrill squeal filled the air and James blinked in surprise. In his sleepy, blind stupor, James figured that it could only be one of the stain-glass mermaids, and so it was with a shrug and a roll of his eyes that he continued forwards into the room. However, it was only after he slid on his glasses again that he realised that the squeal was definitely not from a mermaid of any kind.

"What the _hell_ are you doing, Potter!" rasped Evans as she struggled to cover her fresh-from-the-bath and still-sopping-wet self with a towel. James froze, unable to do anything but stare with wide eyes, caught between complete and utter terror and awe, utterly lost for exactly what you do in that awkward situation where you've walked in on a half-naked, soaking wet girl: The very same one you dream about finally getting go out with (amongst other things… let's face it, Potter's a teenager). James gulped before opening his mouth to speak, only to close his mouth again. He repeated the process a few more times, likely resembling a drunken fish, unable to make any sound other than a distressed gurgle.

He was physically incapable of pulling his eyes from her: And it was hardly his fault, either. He doubted that he could have ever thought anything quite like this up even in his dreams, given that she was far too perfect on her own. Her hair was dark and wet, clinging to her shoulders and back: droplets of water ran from its tips across her flushed skin down across her chest — _Don't think about her chest, Potter. Don't think about her chest don't think about her chest I'm thinking about her chest oh sweet Merlin why am I thinking about her chest!_ The only relief James found in the current situation was that Lily had somehow managed to cover herself at least modestly in a towel before he'd returned his glasses to his face: He hated to think what the situation would be if she hadn't.

Lily glowered at him, and he whimpered a little. If it were possible, his eyes seemed to widen even further, more likely from fear than surprise, and shot up from her chest to her face. One hand clinging desperately to her towel, Lily used her other to fumble desperately for her wand, only for her hand to fall short. Instead, Lily shot forward, an all-too-scary combination of angry and embarrassed, and whipped her hand across James's face with simply no effort at all: **_SMACK_**.

It was all James needed to be snapped back to reality. His hand flew to his cheek, smarting worse than any stinging hex he'd ever received, and rubbed his tender cheek, mumbling incoherent apologies at a thousand miles a second. Lily growled, throwing James one last look of hatred before storming past him, gathering up her robe and hurriedly trying to pull it on, before piling the rest of her belongings into her arms and rushing out of the bathroom, muttering obscenities that even James was shocked to hear coming out of her mouth.

"S-SORRY!" He shouted after her, wincing as the door slammed, unable to even think about how he'd be able to make up for that one.

**_The time in which James wasn't on the receiving end. _**

It took him two weeks, three days and seven hours to pluck up the courage to ask her on a date - a proper one - after their Christmas day entrapment. He'd tried several times, but had only managed to stammer out a few words before turning on his heel and walking away in complete embarrassment. It hadn't helped that Lily had shied away from him a little, probably feeling just as awkward and unsure about where to go next after their impromptu snogging session early Christmas morning. Still, when he had asked, she'd somewhat shyly nodded, accepting his proposal to visit Hogsmeade with him during the second weekend of January.

He aimed to be the perfect gentleman: He waited patiently in the common room for her to get ready, doing his best to ignore the snide comments from Sirius about all the action he'd be getting later. He bolted to his feet when she made her way down the stairs and told her how lovely she looked (again, ignoring the cat-calls and wolf-whistles from Sirius), despite her being rugged up in several layers to combat the cold. He asked her about her day, and what she got for Christmas (aside from the snow globe) several weeks prior, and listened intently as she spoke. He offered her his scarf when she shivvered as they walked through the falling snow and when she graciously declined ('_I don't want you to freeze, James!'_) he tentatively wrapped his arm around her shoulders instead, smiling a little as she blushed. He paid for her butterbeers and her candy and that quill that she'd been eyeing up in Scrivenshaft's. Every second word out of Lily's mouth that afternoon seemed to be _thank you_, but James wouldn't have any of it. He simply smiled and shook his head.

He survives through lunch, but only barely: Every time she laughed at him for slurping his soup his stomach would squirm, so unused to the giddying effect that making her laugh has on him; Every time she lifted her spoon to her lips, James would stare as he thought about just how marvellous it would be to be kissing her again, making her blush furiously (an act that only served to make him want to kiss her again even sooner). Her slow eating only served to fuel the problem further, giving him nothing to focus his attention on other than her once he had finished his own meal. They talk a little more (or rather, she talks and he listens attentively), and then decide to share a desert (James eats more of it than Lily does, but she doesn't mind in the slightest). James practically falls out of his chair hearing the sound she makes when she first tastes the pudding put in front of them.

And then they were outside, throwing fistfuls of fluffy, powdery snow at each other, the fight initiated by James who had finally grown tired of his chivalry act. They laugh madly at each other, both of them giggling uncontrollably as they throw snowball after snowball. He pauses as she points at him and falls back into the snow in a complete fit of giggles, wheezing something out between laughs about his hair. He pretends to be insulted but he's too busy staring at her in awe: Her nose and cheeks are redder than he's ever seen; her green eyes are guarded by thick, long lashes, and despite being soaked from head to toe from their snowfight, her smile is so wide and genuine that James's heart skips a beat; he can hardly breathe. She barely blinks before he's down in the snow with her, his hands tangled in her hair and his lips pressed desperately to hers. She tastes even better than last time, if that were even physically possible, probably a glorious combination of both her and the desert that they'd both just shared, and his head is spinning, spinning, spinning. Then Lily is kissing him back with her arms wrapped tightly around his neck and she's smiling and warm and it's all James can feel; and he knows that she's the one.

There's no-one else.

How could there be anyone else when there's _her._

Lily pulls away and she's smiling, albeit dazed, and he smiles - no - beams back, before kissing her all over again. He wants to tell her just how much she sets his soul on fire, but he catches himself, not wanting to scare her away before he's really had a chance to have her.

She clings to him the entire way back to the castle; She's quiet and he's quiet, but there doesn't seem much need for words. They say it in kisses anyway: intermittent ones, several of them stolen from her by James when he simply can't take it any longer and needs to kiss her _just once more_, lest he discover it's all a dream or she change her mind once they're back on school grounds. But the kisses last once they're on the grounds; and then once they're in the castle; and then again some more once they reach Gryffindor tower, neither of them ready to share the password with the fat lady, kissing for an eternity before breaking away and staring at each other puffy lipped and flushed.

Lily giggles and her fingers trace over her lips, and he beams down at her once again. James makes her promise that he'll go out with her again in a week, and she nods, and James wishes that he could skip forward in time. He mumbles the password and the fat lady rolls her eyes as she swings her portrait open, and both Lily and James stumble inside, hands clasped, the all-too-obvious signs of kissing all over them. James ignores the look that Sirius shoots them but Lily doesn't, and she blushes furiously, shuffling a little closer to James despite herself. Sirius bounds to his feet and before the two of them even had a moment to react, his arms are around the both of them and he's exclaiming his congratulations and uttering his excitement about how his prank on the two of them several weeks prior had been his best work yet (James scoffed; Lily only blushed harder). Slyly, Sirius moved closer to Lily, leaning in a little and wriggling his eyebrows, flatly ignoring James's warning ("Pads… Don't.")

"Got a smoochy-smoochy for me too, Evans?" He asked, puckering his lips at her and moving in ever closer. Lily's eyes widened as she tried to back away, stumbling into James in the process. Trapped and with no other options, her hand whipped forward, and she slapped him, causing him to recoil. James falls into a fit of hysterics and Lily holds her head high, lips pursed as she tries her hardest not to grin in satisfaction at Sirius's pained reaction. James's heart swells with an odd sense of pride, unable to shake the all-too-pleasant feeling that he could possibly be the last person who ever gets a chance to lay one on Lily Evans. Proudly, James slid his arm around Lily's waist, leaning in and kissing her cheek gently.

"I'm glad it wasn't me this time," he whispered.


End file.
